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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169229">In Your Warmth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia'>KannaOphelia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU: Arranged Marriage in Canon Universe, Alternate Universe Exchange 2020, Arranged Marriage, Courtship, Early in Canon, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Frottage, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pining, Rom-com tropes treated seriously, Sexual Content, Shamelessly Tropy, Skin Hunger, awkward dating, to Husbands?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:21:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26169229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak resorts to the ultimate in desperation moves: signing up to the Intergalactic Marriage Bureau, designed to foster love and understanding between cultures through marrying compatible beings. Marriage to a Federation citizen would secure his place on the Federation-run Deep Space Nine. </p><p>It's no good wishing that his arranged mate would be anything like Doctor Bashir. Even Julian would not be enough of a starry-eyed optimist to offer himself up for marriage to an exiled ex-Obsidian Order agent and tailor.</p><p>Would he?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>284</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Arrangement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/gifts">shopfront</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope you enjoy, shopfront! Thank you for such a fun request.</p><p>Title is from <em>Warmth</em> by Bastille: "In your warmth, I forget how cold it can be."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I just want to tell you how wonderful you are for considering this, Mr Garak," the young lady from the Intergalactic Marriage Bureau leaned forward, her deep-set eyes glowing, snout trembling. He could almost smell her sincerity through the holographic screen. "You're our very first Cardassian client."</p><p>Naturally, he was. As if any Cardassian of good standing would deliberately choose to marry into what they considered an inferior species, twist the purity of devotion to family and state by deliberately choosing a family from an enemy empire. Naturally, weak and sentimental individuals made mistakes out of love or lust, but this kind of cold-blooded, deliberate betrayal of Cardassian principles was different. This new branch of the Marriage Bureau, founded on the harebrained idea of encouraging marriages across planets and species was exactly what the Federation, with their hodgepodge of cultures and hypocritical Vulcan concepts of diversity, would condone. No Cardassian in their right mind would contemplate such a thing.</p><p>Garak was aware he hadn't been in his right mind for a long time, or he wouldn't be resorting to such desperate measures to keep himself trapped in his own personal cold hell on Terok Nor.</p><p>He spread his hands, smiling benignly. "I am fascinated by your ideals, dear lady. I am delighted to do any little we can to help build the friendship between our Empire and your great Federation."</p><p>Vacca-Lon didn't seem to catch any sarcasm. Grazerites didn't, he had found. They were earnest by nature. If the Federation hadn't adopted their planet, they would doubtless be a colonised race by now, or extinct. Fortunately for them, their sickly sweet idealism fit right in with the Federation of Planets.</p><p>"It may not seem like you are doing much to help, but I assure you, love is the fastest route to understanding between cultures. You will be forming a bridge between..."</p><p>He let himself tune out a little, wondering if he had completely lost all his senses. The solution had seemed clear enough at first. Sisko was clearly unhappy with his presence on the station, Kira even more so. Odo's suspicious surveillance was amusing, but could easily become a nuisance. Marriage to a Federation citizen would make all the difference in securing his place; he was not delusional enough to attempt to marry a Bajoran, however desperate he was, even if he went to the trouble of finding one to blackmail into an arrangement. The important thing was to find a way to remain on this freezing, bright place, surrounded by hatred on every side, no more excitement in his days than a particularly fine bolt of wool or lunch with a human doctor.</p><p>This organization, specialising in finding spouses for people in far-flung outposts and colonies of the Federation, usually Starfleet personnel, seemed to offer a lifeline. It had been founded on human models of mail-order brides and grooms back in Earth's history, but Vacca-Lon, the official assigned to him, had been only too delighted to take his application. The Federation was like that. Trusting that any contact between themselves and others would insidiously work their ideals into other cultures, turn them towards democracy, equality and sickly optimism.</p><p>"Of course, you're a very special person anyway, courageous enough to live on Deep Space Nine despite the painful history. I'm delighted that we have found a match for you so quickly. And already on the station, and keen to stay!"</p><p>Garak's eyes widened only slightly, his bland smile not faltering, but Vocca-Lan caught it. She beamed, her bovine face positively gleaming. Perhaps she was not so lacking in perceptiveness as she seemed. "Sometimes the pieces just fall into place! And they share so many of your interests and your high intelligence. It's almost like fate played a hand. Now," she added playfully, "I can't tell you his identity just yet. It would spoil the romance. I'm sending you a list of his hobbies and interests so you can prepare a wonderful first date for him. Say, three days from now. I'll send him to your quarters at 20 hundred hours, if that suits."</p><p>"Three days..."</p><p>"I know it's not long to prepare, especially as your role as the initial applicant is to arrange the courtship, but we've found it's best to press on with these things quickly. After all, you are both committed to friendship between our great civilizations, and to true love. Now, don't look so alarmed. You are a very charming and fascinating man, and your match has expressed a special interest in Cardassian males. You'll have no problems at all."</p><p>She had signed off before Garak could even ask what species his future husband was.</p>
<hr/><p>There had been no customers for most of the morning. Business was slow, yet again. Enough to survive, enough to pay the rent and have a reason for being there. Not enough to save as much for contingencies as Garak would like.</p><p>He pulled out the holopad. His profound irritation with the lack of name or species provided was nearly enough in itself to make him contact Vacca-Lon and call the whole thing off. He enjoyed games, but only when he was the one running them, and not at the cost of his future. The terrible prospect that he might be affiancing himself to a Betazoid, prying into his thoughts and emotions if he let his mental discipline down even for a moment, loomed ominously. Was he really so desperate to stay here, the last place with Cardassian architecture, on the edge of space, that he would endure that?</p><p>But then. Surely there was no harm in him gathering more information about his prospective husband. After all, an intelligent person made his decisions based on all the information they could gather, and it was easier to improvise when you knew where your feet could land. He wasn't <em>committing</em> to anything. And maybe it wouldn't be too bad. After all, he had a lifetime of smiling and getting on well with people with whom he had nothing in common, in order to gather information or shoot them in the back. How bad could someone he had been specifically matched to be?</p><p>He settled by the table and scanned it, unable to stop a gleam of interest. It seemed his 'match' was tediously sporting, but also obviously cultured. The interests listed were literature, theatre, xeno-anthropology, puzzles, meditation, debate—ah, that would explain the willingness to explore a union with a Cardassian—science, philosophy. And, interestingly enough, pediatric nutrition. That might explain why the person was on the station. Heaven knows the children on Bajor could do with better nutrition, poor brats. It seemed his prospective husband might be a bit of a bleeding heart.</p><p>Garak leaned back and half-closed his eyes, indulging himself in imagining who it would be. Starry-eyed and ludicrously optimistic, to sign up for such a hare-brained venture. An adventurer. Full of the sparkling, fizzy Federation enthusiasm which was so annoying, and so unexpectedly charming. An Empire that should have tripped over its ideals, yet somehow carried on.</p><p>If there had been the prospect of a real relationship, Garak might even find something to like in this person. Some points of communion. Indeed, if he actually cared about the Marriage Bureau's goals, he might have been more than willing to share his knowledge of Cardassian literature and art. His conversations with Dr Bashir were, after all, quite stimulating. If he could actually choose a spouse...</p><p>He recalled his thoughts. Allowing his mind to dwell on his one continuous Federation contact, was dangerous. He'd learned not to do that long ago. Fit into the weekly lunch the good Doctor allowed him, and ask no more. Clamp down on any errant longings, any tendency to replay in his head playful tones of voice, affectionate expressions, the patience to stay by his side through the worst. The way Bashir had looked so hurt, and so disbelieving, when Garak said he hated him.</p><p>Garak knew he was falling prey to Federation idiot optimism, allowing himself to think of this as if there was any hope of happiness in this marriage. No matter how scientific the matching of partners, this was not going to be a marriage in any real sense. Sex, perhaps, and he had been alone long enough not to sneer at the prospect, but no meeting of minds. No children, no legacy, no serving the state together. A mere marriage of convenience, no different to any cover relationship he had taken on.</p><p>There was a cold heavy ache like a lump of metal in Garak's heart, a kind of bone-deep weariness. He was so <em>cold.</em> He caught himself longing for his implant, the terrible sign of his weakness and failure. At some point in his life, hadn't he seen love as something at least possible for himself? He couldn't remember. Perhaps even a loveless marriage would be more endurable than this emptiness, the days when from day to day he spoke with no one he was not buying or selling from. He might even have a few years or months or weeks of being less lonely, before his too-cruel tongue and too-ugly past drove whatever poor idealistic sap they had sent him away for good. There was no reason for the thought of this to make him feel more lonely. Garak had always been alone, more or less, since his childhood.</p><p>Garak shoved the Holopad away. This human with their mockingly enticing list of hobbies, this ridiculous illusion of companionship floating before him, this false promise. They would be better off running now. The prospect of a friend, a partner, a lover, had nothing to do with the path in life Tain chose for Garak, or the mistakes Garak himself had made. He would stop this back and forth between hope and realism, contact that ridiculous Grazerite immediately, and cancel everything.</p><p>The system chimed to remind him that he had a lunch date. Garak hesitated, but didn't call Vacca-Lon. He didn't want to spend his precious time with Dr Bashir already in a terrible mood.</p><p>His precious time. How demeaning, to see a hasty shared lunch between acquaintances in the Replimat as precious. But, as always, Garak felt his heart lightened a little at the prospect. He was not, he told himself, entirely alone even here. Perhaps all he truly needed was friendship or whatever shadow of it he had with the Doctor.</p><p>Of course, that too would only last as long as he could stay on this Federation station.</p>
<hr/><p>"I thought I might try you with some classic Chinese literature, this time. I think you might enjoy this one. <em>The Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee.</em> Plenty of torture and intimidation in the name of establishing guilt. And the protagonist will be put to death if he is proven to get it wrong."</p><p>"But of course. Anyone foolish enough to leave anyone alive who could prove him wrong deserves the consequences." Garak accepted the cylinder from Dr Bashir, as usual repressing the desire to let his fingers touch and hover over his skin, take the excuse, any excuse, to touch. Bashir glowed with his personal radiance, and seemed entirely unaware that anyone might yearn to warm their hands at the hearth of his presence.</p><p>"Is that the best you can do?" Bashir said. His smile was, as always, fascinating, lighting up hazel eyes in a brown face, teeth white. His features were not so much large as prominent, his long lean face giving little room for them. A face built for expressiveness, not dissembling, a face that wore its heart proudly to the fore.</p><p>"I have no idea what you mean," Garak said, entirely as if Bashir's smile hadn't hit him like a blow to the solar plexus. He kept his own meaningless, practiced smile on his face.</p><p>"Surely you can summon some remark more insulting about human culture than that. And you've hardly touched your Sem'hal stew." Bashir regarded Garak with the sharp intensity that suggested that if Garak was not careful he would be dragged off to the Infirmary to be examined or, worse, to have to resist talking about his feelings. Bashir had been a bit of a mother-hen sometimes since the incident with the implant, and Garak told himself that was profoundly irritating and not at all secretly warming.</p><p>"Forgive me, doctor. I confess there is something on my mind."</p><p>Bashir's mouth quirked a little. "Shall I inform Constable Odo to take especial notice of you?"</p><p>"Not at all. My dilemma is purely personal."</p><p>"Even more intriguing." Bashir leaned forward slightly, with his best bedside manner, stance open and inviting confidences. "If you need someone to talk to, you know I'm here for you."</p><p>Garak toyed with the idea of telling him about the farcical situation or announcing his fiancé would soon be in attendance. He couldn't help but be amused picturing the bewilderment, the stammering, the desperate attempts to cover up stunned disbelief with politeness that would ensue. The prospect of Bashir, thrown suddenly off his mental feet by yet another revelation, was adorable. It was ridiculous to hope there would be a twinge of flattering jealousy as well. The doctor merely endured Garak's attempts at flirtation because the older man was novel and exciting and dangerous. It had been clear often enough that Bashir himself pursued his fellow pretty young things, human or human-looking. Or at least Dax, who at least outwardly resembled a pretty young thing. Youth was fascinated by power and cynicism but drawn to youth; that was the nature of the universe.</p><p>Garak steepled his fingers together. "What are your thoughts on arranged marriage?"</p><p>Bashir frowned. "You know it's common in Starfleet. The best way to ensure both partners understand and are committed to the lifestyle. For myself, I can see the advantages, but I can't help thinking marrying a complete stranger lacks a little in romance."</p><p>"That doesn't surprise me. I can see you dreaming of smuggling unwilling brides and grooms off the station, walking all over your much-quoted Prime Directive in the name of love and freedom.</p><p>"Might be guilty as charged, but don't tell the Commander. I have a weakness for romance."</p><p>"Romance has nothing to do with the decision to marry," Garak said briskly, ignoring the images that sprang to mind of romancing Bashir, of spoiling and courting and kissing. "It is fundamentally a contract and a political enterprise, providing a firm base unit for civilisation. Love, even compatibility, should be secondary to a cool, level-headed determination to commit and a logical decision as to what is best for the state and oneself. Arranged marriage is the only logical solution. For once, the Federation has that right."</p><p>"Now, romance should be secondary, possibly, but compatibility and love? Even in an arranged marriage, shouldn't the ultimate goal be for love to develop? After all, the whole idea of arranged marriage is to scientifically ensure maximum compatibility between partners."</p><p>"That doesn't sound very romantic, my dear." Garak spooned his stew into his mouth, savouring the spiciness, letting the heat of it linger in his mouth and belly, a small blow of comfort against the frigid air of the station. "Ideally, of course, compatibility would develop into affection. But love, my dear Doctor, is a force none of us truly understand. It is enough to have stability."</p><p>Bashir smirked at him, face lighting up in a way that tugged with familiar pain at Garak's heart. "I won't give up excitement for stability any time soon. An attractive man like you should not be so cynical about love. I think the next book I lend you for your education in human literature will have to be a good, old-fashioned bodice ripper."</p><p>"That's hardly a tactful gift for a tailor," Garak protested, and bathed in the light of Bashir's laughter, of the <em>attractive man.</em></p><p>"Are you seriously thinking of signing up for an arranged marriage?" Bashir asked abruptly. His attention was on his food, pushing his dumplings about. Not eating. "It's not so usual to arrange marriages outside family agreements in Cardassia, is it?"</p><p>"Now, then. Who in the Federation would put their name forward for an exiled Cardassian tailor?" He spread his palms wide.</p><p>"There's someone out there for everyone," Bashir said, and there was something a little awkward about his chuckle.</p>
<hr/><p>On the way back to his quarters, Garak found himself reconsidering. Perhaps meeting a prospective spouse wouldn't be too bad. That list of interests danced behind his eyes. The other humans on the station were hostile to him, but he and Bashir had found a common ground of companionship,perhaps even, though the thought was unfamiliar and dangerous affection. Maybe this human would let Garak bathe in his warmth the same way. At least, he might be able to amuse himself playing with him.</p><p>
  <em>Even in an arranged marriage, shouldn't the ultimate goal be for love to develop?</em>
</p><p>A preposterous, naive thought. But, when he came down to it, he didn't exactly hate the Doctor for his preposterous naivety. And any man who would sign up for a ludicrous enterprise like the Marriage Bureau was likely to hold the same kind of unrealistic ideals.</p><p>Perhaps even Garak could learn to love. After all, if the spouse <em>was</em> someone like Bashir... No. Only pain and self-hatred lay down that route of thoughts. No one as young and handsome, as talented and ambitious as Bashir would sign up for a program like that. But the thought of someone pure-hearted and fascinated by books and the arts as Bashir, in a warm human body, was not entirely unattractive. If only he had a photo or a description to centre his speculation on.</p><p>Anything to stop him overlaying the image of his friend over that of the imaginary stranger.</p><p>It was ridiculous to daydream even for a moment that the marriage could be a success, that love could develop. Compatibility? Liking books and art was not compatibility. Anyone who signed up for a thick-headed plan of uniting enemy cultures through marriage was not <em>compatible</em> with someone whose hands dripped with blood, who always did what he needed to do, who lied for the art of it. They would be horrified by who Garak had been, who he still was.</p><p>"Spoonhead."</p><p>Garak didn't turn his head to acknowledge it or see where it came from. It could have come from any of the Bajorans crowding the Promenade, or indeed any visiting alien. In all fairness, he could hardly blame them. The Cardassians had done little enough to win love from other races, and Terok Nor was a memorial to Dukat's excesses. But it was a reminder, clear and strong, that he was only on this Station by fragile tolerance. He needed to do something to consolidate his position before he found himself on the next shuttle away from the edges of Cardassian space, before the exquisite ache of its nearness was gone for good.</p><p>He had committed to nothing, so far. It wouldn't hurt to meet this human. Perhaps try to charm them.</p>
<hr/><p>Despite chiding himself for his silliness, Garak took care in selecting his outfit. After all, he was a tailor. It wouldn't do to let down his trade. His suit was a jewel-like green, contrasting flatteringly with his pale grey skin, making his silky black hair shine. The cut emphasised his broad shoulders, and the neckline cut away from his neck and scaled ridges to attractive effect. Attractive to Cardassians, in any case. But this human had expressed interest in Cardassian males.</p><p>The fit was snug. Garak had been gaining weight in this sedentary role as a tailor. Well, he was aging, after all, and he knew nothing of the tastes of this prospective spouse. Perhaps some padding around the chest and belly would be seen as an attraction.</p><p>As if any of that mattered in an arranged marriage of convenience. He was a fool a thousand times over.</p><p>There was the chime of an incoming transmission, and the young Grazerite lady's face appeared above his desk. "Mr Garak! My, you look so handsome! Your date is such a lucky boy. He'll be along any minute."</p><p>"Miss Vacca-Lon, are you sure you don't have anything helpful for me? Some niggling small details such as this gentleman's name, or age, or appearance?"</p><p>She giggled, snorting slightly through her snout. "Now, you know that's not our policy. It will spoil the surprise! But I assure you, it will be a <em>delightful</em> surprise. I wish I could see your face. Good luck, and let love cymbals ring!"</p><p>He started to object, but Vacca-Lon signed off, and just at that moment the door chimed.</p><p>Garak felt a strange sinking of panic. Ridiculous. He had faced his own death a hundred times over, had cheated and lied and killed his way into the most dangerous situations, deceived experts with a serene smile. This was... what was simply the dreadful term from one of the novels Bashir had loaned him? A <em>blind date.</em></p><p>He went to the door and ordered it open. For a moment he thought he had just thought of Bashir too much and had hallucinated his presence, but it really was the young man there, carrying two bottles.</p><p>"My dear Doctor, I am as always charmed by your presence," Garak began, with his most discouraging smile.</p><p>"Good," Bashir interrupted. "Because I come bearing gifts." He lifted the bottle, which gleamed silver.</p><p>"Impressive," Garak said, distracted despite himself. "Balso tonic. However did you come by that?"</p><p>Julian grinned delightedly at him. ''Straight from Trill. Jadzia had a delivery, and you don't want to know what I had to promise her to get a whole bottle out of her. I thought you would enjoy it. A tonic against your headaches. And wonderful with a good gin." He displayed the other bottle.</p><p>"Thank you. That is most kind of you. Now, if you don't mind..."</p><p>Garak's fingers closed around the tonic bottle's neck, the skin of his thumb resting in faint contact with Julian's warm soft skin for just a moment. He was poignantly aware that this was the most skin contact he had felt with another living being in weeks. Bashir was looking at him with merry hazel eyes, and... was that a little nervousness? He never came to Garak's quarters socially, except that time Garak had been... indisposed. Theirs was a friendship of casual lunches, circumscribed arrangements. Not of turning up at each other's quarters, gifts in hand.</p><p>Humans had a tradition of courtship gifts, did they not? Flowers... chocolates. Drinks.</p><p>Dr Bashir was naive enough to believe in cultural understanding and loving enemies. Sweet enough to think love conquered all. Had spent enough time with Garak to know his tastes, the things they were compatible with. Gave every evidence of caring about him. Was watching him with a careful expression, waiting for his response.</p><p>It was a stupid hope. A ridiculous hope. He needed to get rid of Bashir now, and await his <em>blind date</em> with much lowered expectations.</p><p><em>I won't be giving up excitement for stability any time soon. An attractive man like you should not be so cynical about love. Shouldn't the ultimate goal be for love to develop?</em> Had the doctor truly been dancing around him with his words, testing him, gently mocking him?</p><p>Bashir cleared his throat. "You're dressed rather spectacularly for a night at home, Garak. Hot date?" Was that knowing mockery in his voice, or anxiousness? This was no time for all Garak's training in body language and tone analysis to desert him.</p><p>Garak carefully placed the tonic on a shelf, and Bashir followed him in. Interesting. The door slid shut behind him. Modulating his own tone carefully, Garak said, "I have arranged a holographic performance of Cardassian lyrical narratives from the First Republic. Would you care to accompany me to the Holosuites?"</p><p>It was definitely mockery in the quirk of Julian's mouth, but fond mockery and, yes, just a hint of nerves. "It depends. How many of the characters are executed at the end?"</p><p>"I would prefer not to spoil the surprise."</p><p>"Garak, you are always full of surprises. Lead me to the execution."</p><p>Bashir's smile had changed. Now it was smug, sure of himself. The <em>fool</em>. Garak felt rage bubble up from the depths of his soul, stirred by that smile. "Have you no idea what you are agreeing to?"</p><p>Bashir's smile snapped off like a shuttle bay door. "As far as I'm concerned, just to be bored to death for the privilege of spending a little time with you."</p><p>"Have you any idea who and what you have agreed to <em>spend time</em> with?"</p><p>"I would if you ever let me know anything about yourself." Bashir's cheeks flushed, clearly gearing up for an argument.</p><p>It hit Garak like a bolt out of the blue. Courtship. Human courtship, dates and flirting. Cardassian courtship, the thrill of debate and opposition. How many arguments had they already had? Had their arguments been courtship? Was Bashir upping the ante now, to flirtatious debate, on the understanding that Garak had spent the last year telling him it would be welcome?</p><p>There were no more chimes on the door. No one else was coming. It was just him, and Dr Bashir, right in front of him. "I suppose we have a lyric cycle to listen to, then."</p><p>"Good," said Julian, deflating a little, shoulders dropping.</p><p>"And then drinks?"</p><p>"That would be lovely." Nervousness was fluttering within Garak, and with it the dangerous, painful birth of hope.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Realisation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quark, for all his obvious and unarguable faults, could  at least commission an excellent Cardassian theatre Holosuite program. The two of them sat side by side, surrounded only by holograms, as the virtual actors sang. The Doctor seemed transported by the music, leaning slightly forward in his seat, his expression dreamy.</p><p>Garak was acutely aware that Bashir's thin, muscular thighs were a handsbreadth only from his. He could move, very slightly, and close the gap. Bashir's hands were as long and graceful as his face, and one rested on the knee closest to Garak. He could take it. Intertwine his fingers with his, let their palms kiss. Did Bashir know that palm-to-palm was a sign of intimacy on Cardassia? But of course he did.</p><p>What on Earth was Bashir thinking? Garak felt another surge of anger towards him. What would it do to his career? He might be starry-eyed, always the idealist — the <em>romantic</em> — but there had to be limits to even his sentimentality. Not even Bashir would truly think marrying an exile from the Obsidian Order would make a difference to relations between their empires.</p><p>Could he possibly want Garak for himself? The thought seemed impossible, too fragile to be entertained, no matter how his blackened soul surged at the thought, the heat curling in the pit of his belly. And even more impossible, the thought that he could marry Doctor Bashir. <em>Julian.</em> Even as he let himself think the name, he couldn't wrap his mind around it. There <em>had</em> to be a mistake, and the only reason Garak could think of that he didn't ask was to let this fantasy endure just a little longer.</p><p>Bashir's arm was so thin next to his own, his chest narrow. If Garak put his arm around him and pulled him close, Bashir would just fit in perfectly, head nestled against his shoulder. Garak reached out instead and casually covered Bashir's hand with his own. He counted heartbeats, one, two, three, four. On six he would withdraw his hand, he told himself.</p><p>On five, Bashir turned his hand over, and squeezed his hand for a moment, before pulling it away. It left the ghost of contact on Garak's palm as if it had been never removed.</p><p>He was startled when the cycle came to an end. Bashir shifted and turned towards him, he turned as well, and there was a moment in which their breaths mingled. A moment during which a kiss seemed like a possibility. Bashir's dark lashes flew up, something like mild surprise on his face, and at the same moment, Garak jerked back, his hand slipping away.</p><p>"Up for a drink at Quarks?" Bashir's voice was oddly nervous.</p><p>"What a lovely idea," Garak said pleasantly. He wasn't even sure if he was lying. He heartily disliked Quark's, with its noise and vulgarity and the resentful stares of Bajorans and, most of all, Quark, but, after all, they were supposed to be getting to know each other better. At least as long as Garak maintained the delusion that they were, in some way, betrothed, that was. Quark's was one of Bashir's natural habitats, where he went to have fun. Garak should learn to like it. If they were to be married... If.</p><p>They waked closely, side by side. Not holding hands, but hands close enough to bump occasionally, each contact sending a tiny electric prickle up his spine. Bashir was quieter than usual, his chatterbox tendency repressed. If only Garak could read that brilliant mind, see what was behind that flexible, expressive face. He shouldn't go on with this. He should <em>ask</em>. Break his own heart cleanly, or kiss the life out of the man.</p><p>He found a table, and Bashir stood close beside him, not taking a seat. Garak considered reaching out and taking his hand. Kissing it, in full view of the bar. Learning the taste of his skin. Claiming him in front of Bashir's friends and his enemies. Garak could feel his sense of balance, the firm grasp on his own emotions and reactions, all that kept him safe, wobbling at the base.</p><p>"I'll order, my treat, as a thank you for the music. Kanar, or are you trying something more exotic?"</p><p>"Kanar would be perfect. What a kind thought."</p><p>Garak was adept at tracking people without them noticing, and he tracked Julian to the bar without obviously looking towards him. He was aware of a distinct spark of possessiveness, looking at the lean figure leaning across the bar. Bashir's beauty was alien, slender and deceptively fragile-looking, with muscles like whipcord. His legs were beautiful in the tight-fitting uniform. Garak could still feel the ghost of that finger against his thumb, the unCardassian heat of it. Bashir's skin would be warm all over, softened with downy human hair instead of scales. Garak had looked at the dark hairs on the back of Julian's graceful thin wrists at many a lunch, but he hadn't realised at which point they had changed from being an oddity shared by humans and Bajorans and had become something he ached to feel against his tongue.</p><p>Since, he supposed, he had begun to think of Bashir as, odd as the thought was, <em>his</em> Julian. Since this evening, then. Excellent. Good to be precise in his timescales. He'd hate to think he was regularly fantasing about licking Dr Bashir's hand and hadn't even noticed it. Especially since his treacherous mind was going to <em>what</em> and <em>when</em> he might lick off those fine knuckles.</p><p><em>His</em> Julian was currently chatting to a gorgeous barmaid with a high ridged forehead, who was flickering her feathered eyelashes encouragingly. He was smiling at her with an open, fearless attraction he had never showed Garak.</p><p>i</p><p>The tiny possessive flicker became a bright painful flame in Garak's chest. Only years of habit kept the neutral smile on his face as he crossed the room to join them, his arm sliding lightly around Bashir's waist as if it had always belonged there. And oh, but it did feel like that. It curved around just right, gathered him casually close. As of not only did his arm belong there, but Bashir belonged tucked against him.</p><p>Bashir started as if his arm had been coated with acid, and his cheeks became becomingly flushed. Garak wondered if it was guilt or fear, and found he didn't particularly care which, because Bashir had not pushed off his arm.</p><p>"G-Garak!" To Garak's distinct pleasure, the young lady seemed forgotten.</p><p>"I apologise for my lateness. A particularly stubborn hem."</p><p>"That's quite all right." The barmaid, apparently accepting that the handsome human Doctor had merely been friendly while waiting for a partner, gave a disappointed sigh and turned to reach for the kanar. Bashir dropped the pretence, and hissed, "What was that for? Late? From the table?" He was visibly irritated, and had spots of red on his cheeks, and his eyes were flashing, and he was, Garak felt with sudden, world-dropping sureness, the most exquisite and desirable thing in the entire world.</p><p>He had to ask. He had to know. Better break his own heart before hope grew too strong. Hope was a trap for fools, hope was what kept him stranded on this terrible space station, hope would destroy him. And yet, and yet. If the miracle <em>had</em> happened, he would apologise and drop to his knee human-style and formally propose in front of the entire damn Replimat.</p><p>Bashir's badge chirped, and he automatically touched it.</p><p>"Sorry to interrupt you on your free evening, but I need you in the infirmary," Sisko's deep velvet voice said.</p><p>"We'll pick this up later, Garak," Bashir said, and it was unclear whether it was a promise or a threat.</p><p>Garak sighed and dropped to a seat by the bar. The barmaid handed him a glass of kanar, with a sympathetic smile, and he drained it. "Boyfriend abandoned you?" she asked. "That's what comes of dating Starfleet. No time for romance. Have another drink, on the house."</p><p>"It's going on your tab," said Quark, without turning around.</p><p>Garak downed the glass, and lifted it for another. If he waited long enough, drank enough, Bashir would come back.</p><p>Rather too many glasses of kanar later, knowing he would pay for it in more than one way, Garak stumbled back to his quarters. He headed for the couch and somehow tripped over it, landing on the floor.</p><p>"I just want to know," he pleaded to the ceiling. "Is my match the doctor — Julian — or not?" He listened carefully for the ceiling's opinion. "You're right, maybe I should ask him. Maybe I should just call him up... on duty... with the Commander... and his Bajoran nurses... and ask if he has honourable intentions toward me." In his kanar-addled brain, this seemed very amusing indeed, and he started shaking with laughter. Laughing until the tears came to his cheeks.</p><p>"Computer! Have any visitors come to my quarters tonight?"</p><p>"There have been no visitors since you left," said the cool sweet voice. Cool. Cold. Like everything on this cursed Federation station, frigid and painful. Either Garak had been stood up by his betrothed, which would be one more joke, or it really had been Bashir. His Dr Bashir. His Julian.</p><p>Julian was the one thing on this station that wasn't cool at all. Julian was warm, and would be so warm to touch, hard planes to slide his hands down, the tight curve of his buttocks. Wiry human hair tracing down his firm stomach, nesting thickly at the base of his cock. And what would that be like? How would that smooth brown human skin look, flushed and pulsing with blood? What sounds would that melodious voice make? How would that expressive face twist with pleasure when he was being fucked?</p><p>He really was going to do it, Garak realised disgustedly, cupping himself through his trousers, pressing against them, then sighing and unfastening them to feel his hand where he burned and ached. He was going to lie on the floor of his quarters, drunkenly fucking his fist to thoughts of the closest thing to a friend he had left in the world. He truly had lost dignity that much. Fallen so far.</p><p>Fallen so <em>hard.</em> And long ago, if he was honest with himself. But now he had hope, and the hope surged through him, through the increasingly frantic speed of his hands, until he spilled, filthy and shameful and alone, too disgusted with himself even to get up and clean himself.</p><p>Despair was an escape, and hope was the worst torture. That was one of the first lessons he had ever learned.</p><p>Garak was curled in on himself when he woke, sticky and aching and uncomfortable. It took him a moment to realise that what had woken him was Constable Odo contacting him over the station's systems. He straightened his clothes and answered it.</p><p>"There's a gentleman in my custody who would like to speak to you if that's no trouble," Odo said with heavy courtesy. That was comforting, at least. Some things never changed, and one was the deep distrust with which Odo regarded Garak and, to be fair, everyone else on the station. It was like balm to a wounded soul. He washed himself, changed and headed down, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.</p><p>"Caused a bit of a fuss getting drunk and into a fight last night. He says he is here to meet you, and it's urgent. Says he's your fiancé," he drawled, his interest apparent. Oh, Odo did love to get to the bottom of strange and possibly criminal mysteries. Garak should really befriend him some time. They could provide each other with endless amusement.</p><p>Odo stepped away and gestured to a figure in the cells behind him. The prisoner moved forward to the barrier. Human, golden-haired, about thirty if Garak was any judge. Handsome in a distinguished way, with a five o'clock shadow on a square jaw and intelligent, if bleary, blue eyes. The man shrugged apologetically at him and grimaced ruefully. Then he let his gaze creep over Garak, registered interest with a lifted eyebrow.</p><p>Garak looked coldly at him. "I've never seen him or heard of him before in my life. Really, Constable, I'm surprised at you for buying his story. Do I like seem the marrying type?"</p><p>"Hmmph," Odo said eloquently.</p><p>No. Hope wasn't the worst torture. The final dying of it, and realisation of your own delusions, was.</p><hr/><p>"I'm just closing for the day. If you don't mind coming back at a more convenient time, I'd appreciate it," Garak said as his shop bell chimed. He didn't bother to look back over his shoulder.</p><p>"I'm afraid the only convenient time is now," said the voice Garak had been dreading for two weeks.</p><p>"Ah, Doctor. If you don't mind making an appointment—"</p><p>"I'm here for a fitting. Seems like it's the only way to talk to you nowadays. You've missed two of our lunches with no word."</p><p>Garak laughed bitterly. "I wouldn't want to impose."</p><p>"You don't impose!" Bashir leant a slender hip against the frame of the dressing room. "At least except when you stand me up and don't answer my messages."</p><p>"I'm afraid I've been very busy. The new season's fashions are just coming in."</p><p>"Look, at least tell me what I was doing wrong. I thought we were becoming closer." There was something like pain on Bashir's face, but no. That was just the last surviving threads of hope, lashing at Garak. "Garak — if something's wrong, you can tell me, you know. I'm your friend."</p><p>Garak bit down another laugh. A few weeks ago, his heart would have secretly leapt at that, no matter how much he dissembled. Now, it felt like a dusting of salt on an open wound.</p><p>Bashir straightened and crossed the room in a few angry steps. "Talk to me, Garak. You look dreadful. Do you want me to drag you back to the Infirmary? I do know that I have no intention of being driven away before you talk to me."</p><p>"Oh, pursue someone else, doctor. Someone more suitable. Don't waste your time on me."</p><p>"Waste my time?" Bashir widened his hazel eyes. "Pursue?" He lifted a hand to Garak's cheek, which was strange, it was always Garak who initiated touch, and yes his hand was so very warm. "I'm tired of your games. You're the one who suddenly acted like we were dating, and then refused to talk to me about it."</p><p>"What is there to discuss?"</p><p>Bashir made a frustrated sound, cupped Garak's chin, and kissed him.</p><p>Garak froze still, then he realised Bashir was about to withdraw. Well, so he should if he had any sense. Garak returned the kiss, hard, fiercely. A warning: look what you are getting into, you naive, idiotic human. Back off while you can. But Julian's arm had slid around his waist and was pulling him closer, Julian's mouth was opening hungrily, deepening the kiss, his hand sliding from Garak's chin to caress his neck ridges, sending sensation sparking through him.</p><p>Garak wrenched his mouth away. "Stop it. You're acting like you actually want to be mine."</p><p>"Why not?" The words were casual, but Julian was breathing hard, his arm still crushing them close. "Don't you want me? Because if not we really need to talk about intercultural communication and mixed signals."</p><p>"Don't I want you?" He was kissing Julian again, hard and deep. <em>His</em> Julian, his. Warm human tongue sliding against his own, slender thigh thrust between his, so <em>thin</em> and bony and muscular and perfect, perfect, moulding into his arms as if meant to be there. "Of course I want you! You frustrating, annoying, stupid—"</p><p>"Good." Julian came up to meet his mouth, and the kiss was messy and wet this time, oddly tender through the urgency. "I am not in the slightest bit stupid, just to correct the record." His voice was a little muffled due to his face being pressed against Grak's ear, tracing the delicate scales down to the neck ridge. Of course, Garak thought dimly, Julian would have researched Cardassian erogenous zones. He was always thorough. An excellent trait.</p><p>Garak meant to say something dismissive, but what came out was, "You're a romantic."</p><p>"Precisely." Julian blew against damp skin, and it felt fire.</p><p>"Is it not the same this?" He lost the sentence in a pained, aroused hiss as Julian's teeth dug down firmly into his neck ridge.</p><p>"Not at all." Julian managed to sound breathless and complacent all at the same time.</p><p>"Equally dangerous."</p><p>"I came to the frontier for adventure. Nothing more exciting than <em>you</em>."</p><p>Garak couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed by the word <em>frontier</em>, not with his arms full of Julian, not with all his dreams unexpectedly in his arm. He pulled his mouth back to his, kissed him deeply, the possessive flame rearing up again. He couldn't get close enough, not standing in the middle of the room like that. He seized Julian around his narrow hips, pushed him against the door, bore close in between his legs as they parted around him.</p><p>There was burning triumph in his gut as he realised Julian was as hard as he was, was bearing shamelessly up against him, hands moving to cup his buttocks and hold him close and still with their erections pressed together through their clothes, grinding back.</p><p>"Steady, you beautiful man," Julian said, and Garak was bewildered. Beautiful, <em>him</em>, with this marvellous creature in his arms. The idea inflamed him, that ordinary as he was someone like Julian would find him beautiful. "Has it been a while?"</p><p>"Longer than you can imagine," Garak admitted. His hips moved despite himself, desperately seeking friction, the proof that Julian was hard for him, wanted him.</p><p>"Far too long, then," Julian said, with sympathy and tenderness in his eyes. So caring, so sympathetic, even when they were rutting against the wall in their clothes like adolescents. So caring. . . so <em>loving</em>, Garak' mind wanted to fill in, but he didn't dare yet. There was no reason to think this was anything but a mutually pleasurable encounter. And it had been so long since he was touched, so very long, even through clothes like this "In my professional — ah! — opinion you need some relief."</p><p>"Any treatment in mind?" Garak ground against him and Julian gasped, lashes fluttering shut, head back to expose that lovely slender human neck, the hollows and Adam's apple made for mouthing and sucking.</p><p>"I've always — <em>Garak</em> — prided myself — yes, bite harder — on my oral techniques. But I'm not – oh <em>God</em> — sure we'll last that long this time." One leg wound up around Garak's hips, so athletic, this human, so flexible, Garak bearing him against the wall, the hips thrusting against his. "Wanted this too long." And that was impossible, there was no way Julian could have wanted him, but the man's voice was breaking, as if he really had ached for this.</p><p>This wasn't how Garak had imagined it, he had pictured Julian naked on his bed, slowly seduced, kissed and savoured and indulged, and <em>fucked</em>, but he was helpless to stop the thrust of his hips, each movement showing him that Julian was as needy as he was, was now half-sobbing with desire at their erections thrusting together. Garak opened his eyes in something like panic, and met an expression that was hazy with lust and still impossibly kind.</p><p>"That's right," Julian said. "Show me, sweetheart."</p><p><em>Sweetheart</em>. The climx poured out of Garak in long spasms, hips thrusting raggedly as he came and came and came. Julian was murmuring into his ear, endearments, sweet words he never thought to hear from anyone, let alone Julian, and he was almost sure the word "love" fell from his own lips among his own sounds.</p><p>"You brilliant, amazing thing," Julian said, as if Garak had just achieved miracles of sexual skill and not ruined his trousers like an overenthusiastic virgin. "Look how much you want me."</p><p>Garak fell against him, helpless in the aftermath, for a moment, then pulled back and looked into Julian's flushed face, and down between them. He was a mess, and Julian was still straining against that ridiculous uniform of his, and he had his honour as a Cardassian, did he not? He slid his hands under Julian's delicious backside to take his weight fully, and pulled away from the wall, carrying him to the workshop table and depositing him there.</p><p>Julian was breathless, but grinning delightedly at being manhandled. He smiled so freely, so often, so unguardedly. Garak smiled out of habit, as a guard and mask, but Julian's smiles were like explosions of sunshine. "What exactly do you have in mind, Mr Garak?"</p><p>Garak ran his hand down the uniform, felt it part seamlessly. Starfleet's design might be dreadful, but the construction of their clothes was flawless. "Your cock in my mouth," he said, and Julian arched at the words.</p><p>His erection came free at last, and it was bewitching, this alien human cock, flushed almost purple with blood and straining up to the flat belly, and yes, soft hair clustered around it. Garak pressed his face against the hair, felt it wiry and soft all at once against his lips, slid his tongue up the ridge along the underside to taste the salty-bitter beads of liquid that showed how close Julian was. For him. All this aching dripping desire, for <em>him.</em></p><p>He glanced up. Julian met his gaze with a fierce tenderness. "Go on, darling," he said, and Garak took the head in his mouth.</p><p>It didn't take much. He swallowed his way down until Julian lay heavy on his tongue, stretching his lips, bumping against the back of his throat just the way he liked it and sucked hard once, twice, letting his palate and throat pull tight. On the third suck he felt a hand in his hair, tugging and pulling, as heat spilled down his throat in long spurts.</p><p>"You're wonderful," said Julian brokenly, "wonderful, wonderful." Garak buried his head on Julian's thigh, and the hand in his hair stopped pulling, and caressed.</p><p>He wanted to stay there forever, but his position was awkward and his back and thighs began to twinge, and Julian couldn't possibly be comfortable half-sprawled on the desk like that. He pulled himself up, and Julian settled forward into his arms as he stood there, just as if he had done this a thousand times before, as if there was nothing unusual in them embracing. Humans with their pathetic need for closeness, cuddling after sex. Garak cradled him close and pressed kisses on his cheek, feeling the human softness and the faint scrape of stubble, letting his body heat seep into him.</p><p>"All right," Julian said eventually. "Not that I'm complaining, but want to tell me what brought all this on?"</p><p>Garak was floating on the aftermath of climax, of hearing and tasting Julian come for him. "Ah," he said. "It's an amusing story."</p><p>"Oh, I'm always up for amusing stories. You know me." Julian kissed his cheek.</p><p>"Once there was a lonely exile. There was only one bright spark in his life: a human who was always kind, who spared time for him, who was generous. Who saved him from being eaten by the monster in his own head, just so he could be spared to suffer longer."</p><p>"<em>Garak.</em>"</p><p>"Hush, it gets even more humorous. This exile was trapped in a place he loathed every day, yet he was terrified of leaving it. One day, a solution presented itself. Marriage. Oh, the exile didn't believe anyone could love him, but he fooled himself into thinking that maybe he deserved companionship. And the punchline? He thought his <em>friend</em>, his only friend, was the one he would marry."</p><p>"Me."</p><p>"You. Oh, I know I am foolish, but I am not entirely to blame. You turned up on my doorstep at the appointed hour bearing gifts like some kind of cosmic joke. Isn't that an amusing tale?"</p><p>"So that's it. I thought you'd finally started to make a move, and then you withdrew and didn't talk to me at all. I didn't know what I'd done wrong."</p><p>"I met my prospective husband."</p><p>Julian stiffened in his arms. "Should I be jealous?"</p><p>"He seemed handsome and cultured," Garak mused. Julian began to push away. "But not you." He was rewarded with a kiss, long and sweet and lingering.</p><p>"Garak, what am I to you, exactly?"</p><p>He hesitated. There were a thousand mocking, charming answers that would push Julian away, keep this on a light footing. "Warmth," he said, eventually. "I need you. And I hate how much I need you."</p><p>"Oh, Garak." He was kissed again, lips pulling at his, the sharp nip of a tongue suggesting that, interestingly, he was not the only possessive one. "It seems you need to marry <em>someone</em>, but I think you've messed up your chances with the Bureau. So what's the deal? Do I get access to the secrets of the Obsidian Order if I marry you?"</p><p>It was too much. He couldn't handle it, he couldn't wrap his mind around it. He clung to what made sense. "My dear Doctor, what do I know of the Obsidian Order?"</p><p>"I don't know why I asked. Thought it might be something you overheard in pattern cutting class. Now, do you want to marry me, or not?"</p><p>"You <em>want</em> to marry me?"</p><p>"I can't stand the thought of you leaving the station. Never seeing you again. Life would be hopelessly dull without you around to drag me into trouble. And I can't stand the thought of you arranging a marriage with someone else. I know most people find me annoying, no matter how hard I try to befriend them, but you always had time for me." He bit his lip. "I hope you'll learn to stop hating needing me, in time. I'll be a terrible husband, always working late, flirting, neglecting you. But I'm not bad looking, it seems I like Cardassian music, and I <em>do</em> read your boring novels all the way to the end. That's true love for you."</p><p>"They're not at all boring. They are perfect examples of literature evolved to its highest and purest form." Garak filed <em>true love</em> away in his heart. It had been lightly enough said, but the words themselves had weight.</p><p>"Besides, I've been infatuated with you since the first time you approached me. As if I'd put up with the amount of nonsense you put me through for any other reason."</p><p>"Julian, I—" The words faltered.</p><p>"Yes. I know you do." Julian looked unbearably smug, and Garak loved him, loved him. He pressed him close.</p><p>"I can't wait to hear what your Commander and Major Kira will say."</p><p>"Congratulations on my handsome husband, I hope." Julian's voice was light, but he obviously realised just how unlikely that was. "Look, I know this won't be easy. I know what people think of you. Half the time, I think they have a point. But it's what I want. <em>You're</em> what I want. Good and bad. With all your secrets." He paused. "I have a few myself."</p><p>"My darling." Garak ran his fingers through soft brown waves of hair, making a mental note to investigate Julian's secrets just as soon as he could. It was important to have a complete dossier on one's husband. Not that he had any intention of letting Julian know his. Not yet. Not until he was sure of him.</p><p>"Now let's get you out of your trousers. You're a mess." Julian's eyes sparkled. "And pick up some bottles from Quark's to celebrate. A man doesn't get to celebrate his engagement every day."</p><p>"I do love you," said Garak. It was much easier to say that he had imagined, and the way Julian's face lit up, oh, he would say it a thousand times for that. He settled Julian against his chest, wrapping him close and letting the warmth sink into his cold-blooded form, making no attempt to move.</p><p>Perhaps Vocca-Lan would approve after all. In the end, it was all about intercultural understanding and love, wasn't it?</p>
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